‘Pad Man’ Is Leading An Important Revolution In How The Indian Culture Views Menstruation

As a third-culture kid growing up in suburban Michigan, my parents made me go to Bala Vihar, a Hindu religious school similar to Catechism. I would often complain about going, namely because it was dropped directly in the middle of my Saturday afternoons, inconveniencing me even when I didn’t have anything better to do. But once in a while, if the days aligned, my mom would let me skip Bala Vihar while I was on my period — not because of cramps, but because I wasn’t allowed to go into a Hindu temple during my time of the month.

In Hindu religion and Indian culture at large, menstruation is considered “impure” even though it is obviously a natural, God-given occurrence in a woman’s life. This stance is reflective of the society’s patriarchal values and even extends into the way in which women in rural India take care of the blood, often with rags or cloths instead of pads or tampons, and how they remain outside of the home during these five days.

This aspect of personal hygiene is the focus of the biographical film Pad Man, which was released earlier this year to some controversy but nearly universal critical acclaim, and follows the true story of a social entrepreneur who created a low cost sanitary pad machine for rural Indian women. Lakshmikant “Lakshmi” Chauhan (played beautifully by Akshay Kumar) is ostracized from his village for his diligent, almost uncomfortable lazer focus on creating a pad for his wife (Radhika Apte) after discovering that she was using a dirty rag every month. But failure and his new status as an outcast doesn’t deter Lakshmi from his goal; armed by the knowledge that pads could help prevent diseases and illnesses, he continues to work on his prototype until he perfects it and is recognized by an entrepreneur competition, which leads him to wide fame and success.

Pad Man is revolutionary. At a surface level, it’s a social problem film crying out for focused attention to the state of women’s personal hygiene in India — near the end of the two-hour runtime, Lakshmi states that only 18% of women in India use pads during their period, a stat that is both shocking and unsurprising at the same time. It also probes into the high prices that are normally placed on sanitary napkins, which is relevant to audiences all around the world. In the United States, we often refer to a “Pink Tax” that makes these already pricey products even more expensive; in Pad Man, Lakshmi’s wife Gayatri refuses to use the store-bought pads because of the cost. Money is shown as a barrier to entry, as well as a potential catalyst to illness.

But even more than bringing these social issues to light and working to erase the stigma around menstruation, Pad Man shows us what it means to fight against the status quo. Time and again, Lakshmi is thwarted — sometimes by Gayatri’s refusal to be his guinea pig and use the imperfect pads that soak through her sari, sometimes by the entire village who names him a pervert for caring about what goes on between a woman’s legs — but he constantly fights back with a new set of homemade pads wrapped neatly between two banana leaves.

Casting Akshay Kumar, a huge Bollywood star, in a film about periods is part of what makes the film and its message work. Though not her first choice, producer Twinkle Khanna ultimately chose Kumar (who also happens to be her husband) for the role because of his major stardom and the power that would come along with it. Kumar is idolized by Indian men and his very presence (and not to mention, the scenes in which is actually tries a pad on) help to make the subject relatable and even important to men who might not totally understand a woman’s plight. He is a gateway into empathy, and a convincing one at that.

I called this movie a social film earlier — and it certainly is that — but it’s also a feel-good story that I hope audiences, both Indian and not, seek out now that it’s streaming on Netflix. I’d even go so far as to call the movie feminist, a controversial word in 2018. But it is that: a film that cares about women and their bodies and seeks to normalize conversations that are unnecessarily stigmatized. And in 2018, that’s exactly the type of movie we all need to watch.

Radhika Menon (@menonrad) is a TV-obsessed writer living in New York City. Her work has appeared on The TV Addict, Brown Girl Magazine, Breadcrumbs Mag and Syndicated Magazine. At any given moment, she can ruminate at length over Friday Night Lights, the University of Michigan, and the perfect slice of pizza. You may call her Rad.